Don't Look at My Wrists
by DarkHallows1000
Summary: Sherlock, please don't look at them...Just leave me alone, okay? You'll be safe without knowing me..


**Don't Look at My Wrists **

**Oh Lordy, my first Sherlock fan-fic. Please do enjoy, you may guess what Sherlock is thinking as the title says but I won't give much away. This might be a surprise and it might not be. This is to be only one Chapter but..a certain FRIEND says "No. Moar chapters!" So…if it happens to be more, don't expect 30 chapters out of this. **

Silence. If I don't speak, they will go away. He leans forward, staring at me. He leans back, probably seeing me flinch at what his movements were. That was Sherlock, a genius supposedly. The other…John.

"Lonely? Scared? Depressed?"

I don't move and just blink. As I look up at them both, strains of hair move from my face. I immediately look down to cover what I want to hide. My mother believed my story so maybe they will.

"Miss, you need to talk. That's why you're here, correct?" John asked me first.

"I was forced here by my mother to see who beat me." I glared, crossing my arms across my chest. I blew a strain of hair away from my face. "Fine. It was dark out, and I was coming home from a concert with a friend. We were laughing and was playing around. We heard a noise and some guy came running up to us. He started beating at my friend while I watched, helplessly. I was unsure and scared. He smacked her in the face when she denied she had any money for him. He looked at me and grabbed my wrist hard. I screamed from the pain then I told him I didn't have any money…" I felt tears form in my eyes.

Sherlock was thinking in his chair, he was thinking.

"I woke up hours later after remembering he smacked me with the butt of his gun in my eye. I woke only a block away from my house."

"Did he have a mask?" John asked.

"Yes. He also shot at my friend, killing her. It was morning when I woke. She wasn't near me; all I saw was blood and no money in my pockets. I texted my friend and all I got was her mum texting me that she's dead." I stopped.

"Which wrist did he grab?" Sherlock peeped in.

"Why do you want to know?" I looked him in the eyes.

"Curious. May I see then? For any fingertip bruising." I kept my arms close to me as he got up.

"N-No!" I snarled. "And it was my left arm." He was still examining me, sniffing the air as he did. He frowned.

"Sherlock?" John leaned in.

"Lies."

I blinked. "Excuse me?"

Sherlock looked up at me then stood up. He was still looking down at me. "Fine. If I find the man who killed your friend then I shall admit I was wrong. But if I do not find such evidence, I shall declare victory." He had shifted my sleeves a bit when he got up. I quickly moved them so he wouldn't examine them. "Now then…"

"Will you…"

"I will inform you whenever I am finished." He opened the door for me. I got up and walked out, feeling a different kind of glance on me. I've had strange glances before but this one was different than the others. I walked out and stopped as the door shut. I listened to the conversation on the other end.

"Why didn't you believe a client? Are you that prideful?" John's voice had come first.

"Yes and she's lying, John. Did you not see her movements? Nervous and shaky."

"She got robbed, her friend got killed, and her mother believes she was raped through the robbery. Of course she is going to be nervous and shaky around men, Sherlock."

I sighed. I walked down the steps, missing out on the rest of the conversation. Then I heard:

"John! How can you not see it?!" He knew. I ran out the door to my home and to safety. I didn't expect anything more from them.

Weeks later, I got a text. I read the message that said: Come quickly. –SH-

"How the hell did he get my number?" I walked to 221B Baker Street since it wasn't too far. I walked in and went upstairs then stormed through the door. "How did you get my number?"

Sherlock was in the kitchen, pouring tea. "Simple. Your mother." He pointed to the chair I sat in weeks ago.

I sighed and sat down. "Where's Dr. Watson?"

Sherlock handed me a cup of tea. "On a date."

"Oh."

"How old are you?"

"I will be 18 next month."

He nodded. He took a sip of his own tea, sitting in his chair.

"Well, did you find him?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Who was it?"

"Mostly your father, you did the rest."

I glared. "My friend was murdered though."

"Suicide technically speaking and attempted from your side. Your wrists now, ma'am." He stood up in front of me and lifted my wrists up. Shocks of energy ran up my sleeves as he revealed my bare skin. "Ah, there they are."

"Happy now?" I grumbled.

He grinned. "Let me guess now, your father abused you and hit you every day yet your mother never believed you when you tried telling her. When your father left, you had that freedom yet you had bullying at school plus peer pressure. You tried dangerous drugs and that night at the concert, you took another dangerous drug. Your friend took too much, you left her as she died and you didn't know. You cut from the bullying, that's where these came from on your wrists. Waking up to faded scars, you went home to your mother who doesn't help you at all with your issues; you went to the bathroom and slit your wrists again. You also remembered your father and saying rude, cruel things to you which made you cause to slap yourself to make a bruise." Finally he finished. "Am I right?"

"Bloody hell. Clever." He sat back down. I watched him carefully.

"Your father caused you to do all of this?"

"Yes, but how did you know?"

"The way you act around men."

"Oh…"

"For example, right now. You froze when I even gave you tea, and when you visited us several weeks ago." I sipped my tea. He did the same. "There's no reason to be afraid of all of us men. We aren't all the same, especially not me."

I nodded. "I know."

"It's true."

I placed the teacup down and stood up. I was close to tears now. "Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"Don't look at my wrists ever again."


End file.
